


Doze

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6754117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironically, Lindir’s made Elrond late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doze

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It isn’t like Elrond to be late, and it isn’t easy to imagine how—he has, after all, one of the most persnickety attendants Bilbo’s ever met. Though Lindir has on occasion—always at Elrond’s instance—taken time off to play his harp at Bilbo’s side, the second one of his lord’s appointments approaches, he always flutters off faster than a bird.

And now Elrond isn’t ten, isn’t twenty, but a good thirty minutes late for their weekly afternoon tea, and Bilbo’s quite sure that poor Lindir will have a heart attack when he discovers it. 

Adventures in the lovely land of Rivendell are scarce at best, so Bilbo, naturally, takes it upon himself to seek out his host. He politely excuses himself to the elf pouring his tea and strolls off the balcony, back into the open, sun-kissed halls of the Last Homely House. Elrond could be anywhere within these walls, or even out hunting with his sons, if he’s been so brash as to forget Bilbo entirely, but Bilbo doesn’t mind checking about. He’s wandered down a good dozen corridors before he runs into Erestor, who has nearly as good a grip on the place as Lindir. He offers Bilbo a polite smile and stops when Bilbo walks right into his path. “Have you seen Lord Elrond?”

“He was in the gardens, last I checked,” Erestor answers, then nods his head and continues off, busy usually is. How anyone could be busy in such a seamless land, Bilbo can’t understand, but then, he’s spent more time looking into Elven song than how their realms are run.

By the time Bilbo spots a familiar head across the courtyard with the largest fountain, it’s a good hour past their teatime. Bilbo wanders around the rose bushes in between until he comes to the bench where Elrond sits. His gaze is lowered, silver circlet tracing lightly around his forehead and the early evening light splaying orange across his dark hair. Five paces away, Bilbo sees why.

Lindir, Elrond’s ever-faithful attendant and one of Bilbo’s favourite minstrels, lies sprawled across the bench, his cheek cushioned delicately in Elrond’s lap. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, breath even. He’s clearly fallen asleep—Bilbo doubts he would take such an ‘improper’ position as his lord’s thighs if he were conscious.

Spotting Bilbo, Elrond lifts one slender finger to his lips, but Bilbo doesn’t need the signal. Hobbits can move quieter than mice, and Bilbo is utterly silent as he approaches the bench. Elrond lowers his hand, the other raking absently through Lindir’s long hair. If Lindir knew his beloved lord’s fingers were so lovingly caressing his skull, he’d likely be redder than Elrond’s robes.

“I apologize for my lateness,” Elrond murmurs, the words for Bilbo but his eyes back to Lindir’s peaceful face. “I have been urging my Lindir to relax more for some time now, and when such an occurrence befell me, I could not bring myself to wake such a beautiful creature.”

Bilbo says, “I understand,” even though he doesn’t really—a hobbit would never need such an excuse for a nap. Nor would a dwarf. And a dwarf, which he thinks would have more fun hair to play with, wouldn’t wake simply from their makeshift pillow moving off. He waits an extra minute or two anyway, only half expecting Elrond to rise and return with him to the balcony where their tea awaits.

Elrond makes no move to do so. He brushes a single strand behind Lindir’s ear and lets his thumb graze the elegant tip. The corners of Lindir’s lips twitch ever so slightly up. He’s likely having pleasant dreams. Elrond seems content to wait them out. The care in his eyes speaks volumes, too much for Bilbo to argue.

He still makes a show of shaking his head and sighing, “Elves,” under his breath as he leaves. 

But the scene’s given him inspiration, and he hums a new romantic poem on his way to hunt down another spare minstrel to play for it.


End file.
